


knife, candle, glass

by anonymousAlchemist



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Character Study, Other, boys who lie to themselves and to everyone else, but by god you're getting it anyway, me shaking peter: whats wrong with you my boy, the peter nureyev character study nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27441307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousAlchemist/pseuds/anonymousAlchemist
Summary: Peter Nureyev exists to keep the rest of himself viable. Otherwise, Peter Nureyev is a liability.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 35
Kudos: 121





	knife, candle, glass

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello and welcome to my character study. 
> 
> Part 2 will be up whenever we learn what the hell is up with Peter's debts and schemes—I suggest subscribing cause who knows when that'll be. (Though this is perfectly readable as a oneshot/as it!)

Here is the trick of it: you fold yourself in two, and in two again, and eventually the whole of you is so small as to no longer exist. And then you take that tiny speck and swallow it and then it’s gone forever and no one can touch you. 

This is all a metaphor, of course. But visualization exercises are helpful when you mostly deal in intangibles, and this is what the nameless thief is: an intangible. 

That’s what he tells himself, anyway, because that’s the important part: convincing himself, so that he can become the skin that convinces everyone else. It’s not play-acting, it’s real life, he doesn’t pretend to be Rex Glass, he  _ is  _ Rex Glass, and Perseus Shah, and Duke Rose, a thousand names attached to a single face, a single face made a thousand names through judicious use of: makeup, glasses, the tilt of his smile and the set of his eyes. 

That’s bullshit though: it’s all Peter Nureyev, as much as he tries to pretend otherwise, as much as he buries the name in the detritus of his past, behind locked doors he never looks in. Peter Nureyev refracts out of all his personas. Peter Nureyev is the tendency to flirt on the job, Peter Nureyev is a well-cut suit, Peter Nureyev is the light touch and the shark’s smile that he practiced in the mirror as a teenager. 

He can’t stop being Peter Nureyev but he can always stop being Peter Nureyev. In his business the appearance matters more than the truth, and so he’s _ not  _ Peter Nureyev, Peter Nureyev died decades ago on Brahma, Peter Nureyev is a legend and a revolutionary, Peter Nureyev cut his father’s heart out, Peter Nureyev has no father. 

Sometimes Peter Nureyev wipes off the makeup in the mirror and doesn’t recognize himself. 

That’s fine, though. That’s a good thing. He’s only ever really fully Peter Nureyev for the slim moments between jobs, the hotel bathrooms where he peels off false eyelashes and contacts, sits on the edge of the tub and bandages his wounds. He’s Peter Nureyev when he scrubs his face and wipes his glasses, when he bites his lip as he puts pen to paper and forges passports sitting on the hotel bed with a collapsible lap desk open. 

Peter Nureyev exists to keep the rest of himself viable. Otherwise, Peter Nureyev is a liability. 

It’s an easy way to live. You can live a long time in the space between the people you are becoming, you can live for months as an identity not your own, and if you string enough months together you get years, and then you get a decade, and then suddenly your past and the name attached to that past is in the rearview mirror. Life can be the thrill of the next heist and nothing but the thrill of the next heist, a thousand glittering planets held and examined and discarded for the next jewel. 

It can be something like happiness. He can tell himself that there is no attachment to the things that he leaves behind, that the moment matters because of the moment and not because of anything belonging to the moment. 

But that’s all a lie as well, because he lets Peter Nureyev out in bits and pieces, and Peter Nureyev has a soft spot for lost causes, for the righteous, for all the stupid choices that led to the room painted red on New Kinshasa. Because Peter Nureyev had revolution ground into him through the lies of his father, and it turns out that even a lie is hard to wash out after an entire childhood of telling. 

So he takes the jobs he can live with. And he never goes back to see how the story ends. 

And then, Juno. 

#

Juno, with his shabby trenchcoat and beautiful face, Juno trying to climb out of the fire escape, sniping back at Rex’s flirting even as he blushes and bites his lip. Juno’s emotions are written all over his face, and it’s delightful to watch. Juno might just be a mark, but Rex is going to have fun while he can, and it’s not like Juno isn’t enjoying himself either. 

Juno has very long eyelashes, and very soft lips. 

And apparently...a very quick draw with handcuffs. 

In retrospect, this is the beginning of Peter Nureyev’s slow descent into the gravity well that is Juno Steel. He’s  _ charmed _ is the thing, that this hard-worn detective can look at Peter and pull the snag in his aliases and make all of it unravel, that he matched Peter, move for move, that he played the game and almost won and it’s a shame that they don’t have more time for anything but a kiss. It’s  _ exciting, _ is the thing, it’s novel, they’re playing cat-and-mouse and there’s always been something  _ romantic _ about the idea of the thief and the detective. This is a role that Peter was born to play, would be delighted to step into. 

And he has to be excited, because otherwise he would be scared. Because even as he runs his mouth and winks and watches Juno watch him, underneath the calculations and potential escape routes, Peter’s mind is filled with a single thought: he wants to see Juno again. 

Peter wants Juno Steel to keep looking at him with that steady gaze, like he’s the only thing in the universe, like he’s a puzzle waiting to be solved. He wants to see that gaze dissolve into something soft, he wants the lady to kiss him again.

On a whim, he signs his note with  _ Peter Nureyev _ . As he’s led away by the officers, he wonders what the detective will do with a lead. 

# 

Apparently nothing. Apparently nothing is what Detective Juno Steel, private investigator of-and-to Hyperion’s elite, will do with the information regarding Peter Nureyev’s identity. Peter paid a talented hacker an exorbitant amount of money for a program that notifies him when anyone looks into him, and Juno has not even searched “Peter Nureyev” on the hypernet  _ even once. _

Peter decides this doesn’t bother him. He files the feeling away, for future consideration. 

Meanwhile, Peter spends a long few hours searching Mars’ databases and ‘net for references to “Juno Steel,” and finds newspaper articles about CASE CRACKED BY HYPERION DETECTIVE, a wedding announcement with a picture of a younger, smiling Juno, a long, lurid article about Benzaiten Steel’s murder, which Peter grimaces at and closes. 

Juno Steel’s footprint in Hyperion City is about the size of a planet, give or take a few boulders. Juno is a gravity well the size of Jupiter. Every tabloid article (KANAGAWA HEIRESS SPOTTED WITH MYSTERY LADY AT NIGHTCLUB!) and police report (Ex-Detective Steel brought perp in, stick it in his file with the other paperwork) adds another stroke of color to the painting that is Juno Steel, private eye. 

Juno Steel is determined. Juno Steel knows people in high places, low places, every place in between. Juno Steel investigates thieves, murderers, lost children, disappeared spouses. Juno Steel’s medical file is worryingly long. Juno Steel has an assistant half his size, which makes for some adorable photos. Juno Steel’s office is in a shabby brownstone, even though he could probably afford better. 

Juno Steel looks handsome in a suit and devastating in a dress. Juno Steel is almost never photographed smiling, and his frown is one micrometer away from being considered a pout. 

Peter wants to bite Detective Juno Steel’s bottom lip. 

He stares at the photograph of Juno for a moment more before closing the terminal window. He’s slipping. He’s supposed to be doing research for his next con, not mooning over a pretty lady. He’s not even supposed to be  _ Peter Nureyev  _ right now, no, he’s Gideon Alabaster, heir to a vast mineral fortune, going to a concert where the attendees will have valuable jewelry and even more valuable information. 

Gideon isn’t infatuated with a Martian detective. Except that he is. Except that Peter is Gideon is sitting at his laptop scrolling through years of old photographs of Juno Steel instead of researching his marks. 

As if Juno is one of his marks. 

# 

Let’s talk about love for a moment. Let’s talk about love in the context of the heist, in terms of the con, in terms of the mark, in terms of the roll of the dice, in terms of  _ you never get to choose who you fall for but you can choose to jump.  _

Peter can recognize the signs. Juno isn’t Peter Nureyev’s first love. Isn’t even his second or third love. Peter Nureyev falls hard and fast, Peter Nureyev’s heart is worn on all his personas’ sleeves. Rex Glass sees Juno Steel bleeding in Kanagawa hallways and Peter Nureyev’s heart skips a beat. 

Peter Nureyev thinks about this in the moments he is Peter Nureyev, the cold minutes when he sits in his underwear and a not-yet buttoned shirt and carefully applies eyeshadow, the seconds between when he affects a high-class Old Earth accent and smears the edges off his Outer Rim Brahmian. 

It’s about carefully controlled release. It’s about free fall with the parachute. It’s about indulging the fantasy for as long as possible, and if the fantasy can turn into reality that’s the sort of con that the nameless thief specializes in. 

It’s about the seduction: who could Juno Steel love? 

# 

Here are Peter’s Nureyev’s strengths: the ability to partition his thoughts. Sharp eyes and a steady hand for forgery. The ability to spout incredible amounts of bullshit on command, his mouth working faster than his mind. What about is that lovable? What about that caught Juno Steel’s eye in the scant hours they worked together? 

What does Juno Steel love? Adrenaline, going by the news articles—although the media is an incomplete picture at best, corroborated by the experience Rex had with him. Juno came alive during the heist. Peter wants to make Juno look like that all the time. Juno was willing to kiss him, Juno then immediately cuffed him, so ergo the dear detective is  _ practical _ , head over heart, but  _ there’s proof of the heart.  _

Peter can work with that. 

So what does Peter Nureyev know? That Juno thinks that Peter Nureyev is attractive, at least, but not attractive enough to abandon his principles. That Juno does what he thinks is right, always, no matter what the law or his emotions say. That Juno is competent, and beautiful, and—oh, he’s getting off track. He needs to think about this like a job. 

And the first step to any job is getting the mark to trust you. 

# 

Peter Nureyev constructs the con like he would construct any job. He’ll build it into his other Martian job, call a favor with a few contacts to send him Juno’s way at the earliest opportunity. This will make the situation seem organic, because Juno seems like the sort of lady who would read ulterior motive in Peter showing up at his door with a bouquet of red roses. Besides, where’s the romance in that? 

Peter is thinking Martian mythology and high stakes. Peter is thinking heists that hinge on trust. Peter is thinking formalwear and alter egos and Juno in a pretty dress. Peter is thinking hotel rooms with only one bed—though maybe he’s getting ahead of himself. 

It’s a good story, though, Peter thinks as he taps notes on a tablet. A good story with lots of opportunity for heroics, which Juno excels at, and lots of opportunity for Peter to show Juno that he’s serious about him. Peter yawns. It’s late night—maybe early morning—on the transport vessel he’s booked a room in to get back from the Outer Rim. The only light is from the screen. He’s putting together forged documents to get past the Martian customs screen and daydreaming. There’s a lot of legwork that goes into the fun parts of a job. A lot of smoke and mirrors to play pretend.

Peter Nureyev is very tired. 

# 

Everything goes to shit. 

The worst part of it going to shit isn’t even that it went to shit, it’s that Peter didn’t predict how  _ much  _ it would go to shit. He can plan around things going to shit. He had diagrams for all the ways things might possibly go to shit, he wrote out decision trees and alternate routes and escape plans, but nothing in his calculations took in the  _ improbable  _ possibility that Miasma was  _ insane.  _ He should have planned for this. He had one job. 

Peter Nureyev exists to keep the rest of him viable. Otherwise, Peter Nureyev is a liability. 

There’s a saying that floats around crime circles, tentatively attributed to legendary thief Buddy Aurinko, that “flawless crime is so boring.” 

Peter, sitting in a Martian tomb with electrical burns on his wrists, with the love of his life bleeding from the eye, would really love to be committing some flawless crime right about now. 

# 

Peter doesn’t know what Juno saw in his head, what Miasma made him dredge out of Peter’s subconscious. The mind-reading doesn’t work like that: it’s not like Peter sees what Juno is seeing, but Peter can see the horror on Juno’s face, the way he’s watching Peter like he’s the last piece of evidence left at a crime scene, like he’s trying to figure out what’s wrong with him, like  _ Peter Nureyev  _ is the most fascinating thing under a microscope. 

Here is the inside of Peter’s head right now, behind the bright facade of his sharp-toothed smile: Worry about Juno, who has dripping blood on his lip and under his eye. Dozens of half-made discarded plans. More worry about Juno, who didn’t move away when Peter sat next to him. Exhaustion, papered over with optimism that he’s trying to muster up the energy to feel. Even more worry about Juno, because everything’s gone to shit and all of Peter’s romance-novel plans are down the drain and he’s aware that this is the last thing he should be worrying about but he desperately wants Juno to understand how he feels. 

And all of that is another layer that’s all questions, all  _ why didn’t you look me up, Juno? Could you love me, Juno? What did you see, Juno? What can you forgive, Juno? I can’t explain things, Juno, because there are things I don’t let myself think about except for the way they made me who I am, there are terrible things that I have done for good reasons, did you see what I think you saw, Juno? I can’t explain what I’ve done, but Juno, you’re the only person in the world I could explain it to because I wouldn’t have to explain it, and I want you to know everything about why I am who I am. Is it terrible that I want you to know this? I shouldn’t want you to know me, Juno, but I do. I want you to know everything about me, Juno.  _

And underneath that, the beginnings of the plan. 

# 

And maybe that’s the heart of the dichotomy that is Peter Nureyev, that is the nameless thief, that he is the man who looks at the love of his life and thinks about triggering a seizure so he can escape. 

That’s the dirty secret buried in the mountain of emotional dirty laundry, that the man who calls himself Peter Nureyev tries to temper through all the contingency plans, the endless personas, the pretense of living in the grey areas. It’s that Peter Nureyev is all-or-nothing, that  _ caring  _ for Peter Nureyev isn’t an emotion as much as it is an  _ obsession _ , it’s giving Juno his name, his memories, everything that means anything to him without even  _ thinking  _ about it, without even  _ asking _ , it’s that caring means manipulation, it means control, it means telling Juno that he either forgives or forgets, he either leaves or stays, that Peter wants everything or nothing and none of the in-between. 

It’s the sort of love you learn from liars, Peter knows. It’s the love you learn from the choice between killing your father and killing a city. All or nothing. The personal is the professional. 

Juno, lying in Peter’s lap, bleeding from his eye socket. 

# 

And Peter thought he knew about loss. He thought he knew about taking responsibility for the consequences of his actions. He thought he knew about making hard choices, and he thought he knew about sacrifice, and he’s realizing as he sits on the other side of the door from stupid, suicidal Detective Juno Steel confessing his love, that he doesn’t know anything at all. 

If Peter hadn’t cajoled him onto this heist, Juno wouldn’t be here. 

Is that the running theme of Peter Nureyev’s life? That he gets people killed to save worlds? No wonder he doesn’t want to be Peter Nureyev, most of the time, that it’s preferable to be anyone else. But there’s no one else to be, now. Peter Nureyev wrestles frantically with the door. Scrapes his fingertips raw and bloody trying to open it. Juno’s voice almost cheerful, and Peter Nureyev responding pleading with him to open the  _ fucking  _ door. 

It’s all Peter Nureyev, now, all the veneers of every other one of his stupid aliases ripped away, just the naked fear and longing that’s at the core of his being, the stupid desire, the hope that by speaking and pretending that the world will be different, the knowledge that it’s action that actually matters, and Juno’s going to–

#

Juno doesn’t die. 

# 

They limp their way back to a hotel room, Juno half-slumped over Peter the entire time, and this isn’t how he imagined it but as long as they receive their happy ending, it doesn’t matter how they got there. That’s how it always is, for Peter. After the heist is over it’s  _ over _ , and he begins thinking about the next job. This time with Juno. Maybe every time after with Juno. It’s a thought that scares Peter, now curled up next to Juno in the hotel bed. It’s a thought that exhilarates him. There are so many things he wants to show Juno, so many places that he’s been as anyone but Peter, but maybe he wouldn’t mind being himself if Juno is there. 

He could fall in love with Juno, he thinks. He could wear his heart on his sleeve for Juno. He would be Peter Nureyev for Juno, if Juno wanted him to be. Since Juno has seen the heart of him, the worst parts, the history he doesn’t let himself think about, and Juno is still lying here warm against him. 

Peter doesn’t want to lose this. He came so close to losing this. He decides he won’t think about how close, because it’s over and their future is here now, a glittering wave of possibility. 

# 

He wakes up when the door creaks. The hazy outline of Juno’s silhouette, the door closing before Peter can even sit up. 

Beautiful ladies break hearts all the time. Peter doesn’t know what he expected. 

The wave, crashing. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! SMASH that kudos button if you liked—ok i'm sorry i will not youtube voice at you. 
> 
> but i'm _very_ curious about what you think about the characterization, so _won't you comment on my fanfiction?_
> 
> or hmu @ [anonymousalchemist.tumblr.com](http://anonymousalchemist.tumblr.com/), checkit.


End file.
